Ignorance Is Bliss, Until You Get Killed
by DiVaGiRl13
Summary: Sequel to What Happens When You Fall Hard "Ignorance is bliss" Z hated that saying and not knowing. Because not knowing got you killed. Z would know. He learned it all the hard way in his last years of school. Just remember: spies don't always live. R
1. Ignorance—good or bad?

_**(Author's Note) – **_What's up, my readers? :] Before I go on, here's the disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING; IT ALL BELONGS TO ALLY CARTER! There—it is disclaimed.

First off: **THANK YOU** to everyone who reviewed _What Happens When You Fall Hard_, as some of you know, it was my _first_ story and I'm incredibly glad that you all liked it. Thank you to all the support and advice, it's because of that that I'm more motivated to write. (:

Second off: SORRY for not updating this sooner. I've been really trying my hardest to make this seem interesting enough for all of you. But my beginnings are usually boring, but please read on. Here's a mini-shout-out to: ellenfp they reminded me that people were probably impatient to read this.

Third off: Please read the Epilogue of WHWYFH before you read this!

Fourth off: PLEASE ENJOY THE FIRST CHAPTER! (:

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_**Chapter One: Ignorance—good or bad?**_

_Time__: 6:08 a.m. __Date__: September 15__th_

_Location__: Blackthorne Institute_

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

"_**When You're Gone"—Avril Lavigne**_

Everyone has their fair share of dislikes, being a spy doesn't change that, though our aversions are a little different. Like when we make an extra credit bomb for our Advanced Arms Research class and it doesn't meet the requirements (apparently when you detonate your bomb, it has to make a hole in the ground with _at least_ a _five_-foot diameter). Jonas wasn't too happy about that; in fact, it ate away at him until it led him to inflaming a fourth of our dorm wing. On accident (I think).

(Bad News: the seniors with the charred bedrooms were pissed and violent, never a good combination. Good News: I think it went without saying that he got an A in that class)

But personally for me, what I can't stand is _not knowing_—being _oblivious_, being _naïve_, being _ignorant._ Whatever the word, it all denotes the same thing: not knowing.

Not knowing what the outcome of my espionage career would be.

Not knowing what that leather bound book was doing lying beneath my bed sheets.

Not knowing what happened to my parents after they drove away in that taxi.

Just thinking of all those things sent a rush of adrenaline into my veins; an itch creeping under my skin that could only be scratched with answers. I always thought that the guy who created the saying, _"Ignorance is bliss," _was an idiot. Because I wouldn't call something that keeps you up at night, that destroys your appetite, and that claws away at your sanity, bliss.

"Grant! Get your lazy _ass_ out of the _freaking _bathroom or I swear to god, I will _kill _you with my protractor!" Surprisingly enough, I wasn't the one who said that.

The threat was followed by loud thuds against the bathroom door and an inky haired Jonas North glaring at it. He's the type of guy that comes back from summer vacation with something new every year. This time, it was an attitude that developed in the morning and was triggered by not having eaten breakfast yet.

I swiveled around in my seat just in time to see a fist connect with Grant Newman's freshly cleaned and shaven face. The summer was eerily silent, nothing like the loud cursing that my roommates were producing at that moment. Got to give it to them though, they can sure entertain a guy.

"Well, good morning to you too, Sunshine!" Grant grumbled, rubbing his chin. After a good English muffin he was back to his nerdy self. But at the moment he only let off a growl and shoved past Grant into the bathroom.

"Gee, he's worse than some hormonal pregnant lady. Just watch, he'll be having freakish cravings and burst into tears at any moment." Grant teased. He knew as well as I did that Jonas wasn't Jonas without his strange habits.

"Try telling that to him when he comes out, I'll make sure he has a protractor so he can kill you." I said pleasantly. I dodged the punch that he launched at me and smirked.

"Too slow, Grant-y." My eyes fled back to the bathroom door as it opened to reveal a (somewhat) relaxed Jonas. But of course Grant would be the one to get him pissed off again.

"You know, if you were a girl, I would say you were PMSing right now." Grant grinned casually. Jonas just glared as he did his black tie.

"Why do girls even date you?"

His smile widened. "Easy: good looks, charm, affability and that _je ne sais quois, mon frère_."

"Grant. Aren't you the one who said that you _hated_ French?" I reminded.

"Yeah, but Bex thinks it's sexy when I speak French." Jonas rolled his navy colored eyes and slapped the towel onto his head.

"Don't the British hate the French?" I asked, knowing full well that it didn't apply to Bex. I smirked as Grant's brown eyes widened.

"Oh shit." I started laughing and I even think (currently) PMSing Jonas was hiding a smile of his own as he towel dried his hair.

"Oh, Grant that reminds me, you went to England for a few weeks during the summer, right?" Jonas asked, his agitation seeming to have dissipated for a moment.

Grant nodded, shocked that it didn't take shoving breakfast down his throat to have him calm. Others wouldn't have noticed that his cheeks developed a pink color as blood rushed to his ears, but we were Blackthorne Boys, we saw it all.

"You got to talk to Bex for a bit too, right?" Another nod and a hint of a smile from Grant.

"Yeah, it was nice to see her, but _damn _a lot of guys were after her. Not that I'm surprised." I smirked, Grant was carefree; a lot of things slip under his radar. He wasn't one that got jealous (I know. I was shocked at first too) but he still seemed bothered by the fact that guys went after Bex.

"Yeah, well…did she mention anything about Liz?" he asked hesitantly, his hands shoved into the uniform pockets.

"Aw…look at that, Zach." Grant teased. "Our little Jo is finally growing up!"

"Oh fuck off, _Mom_. So did she?" he persisted. Grant paused, and stared at our roommate's earnest and almost nervous face.

"Bex said she lost connection with her around the middle of July, but the last time she heard was that Sutton was getting annoyed by her cousins, but definitely fine." Jonas smiled and gathered up a few note cards on Organic Chemistry.

"_Hoeveel absorptie de volgende samenstelling in zijn koolstofNMR-spectrum zal hebben?_" Yeah, those 3 by 5 inched note cards were in _Dutch_. Looking back, Liz was probably the perfect girl for Jonas. _Overachievers_.

"Don't you want to know about Cammie?" Grant asked teasingly. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Nah," I lied. Most of my free time in the summer was left with thinking about her. While I was taking jabs at the punching bag, I remembered her getting annoyed that I kept trying to teach her how to do it the right. Or even when I took a break from firearm practice I remember her being psyched to start that unit, though Jordon hadn't introduced it yet. And ultimately, after everything with our final, _was she okay?_

"Really? 'Cause I would have thought you'd want to know how she was," Grant explained.

"I don't need to ask you, because I already know." Lie number 2. I thought back to Solomon's lesson. Pupils not dilating—_check._ Breathing pattern regulated_—check._ Steady pulse—_check._

"How do you know that?" Jonas questioned, eyes astonished behind his glasses

I pointed to myself, "Spy."

Grant rolled his eyes and pointed at me. "Stalker."

"Spying isn't stalking," I pointed out. "It's just—"

"All students from grades 10 through 12 are to report to the auditorium at this time…All students from grades 10 through 12 are to report to the auditorium at this time…" a nasally, female voice droned, cutting me off midsentence.

"What about breakfast?" Jonas asked exasperatedly, scowling at the nameless voice that reverberated down the halls towards the seniors.

"Forget the food—" Grant started and Jonas snorted.

"Gee, never thought I'd hear you say _that_,"

"—go to hell North," Grant glared and turned his gaze to my amused one. "But seriously, I hope Dr. Steve'll make this short, his last lecture took three hours."

"It took one class period, Grant."

"Fine, it _felt _like three hours, but really if it felt like it, is there a difference?" I only shook my head and chuckled under my breath.

"Yeah, well tell that to Dr. Steve then,"

"If I'm ever going to tell Dr. Steve something that'll get me expelled it'll be that he needs to get some." Grant replied. He turned on his heel towards the door and I snorted, but followed anyways. Jonas spoke up.

"Who says he didn't already get some? Tim's newest rumor is that he heard groaning from his office."

Well I didn't need to know that. As I (reluctantly) contemplated that nasty visual, I couldn't help but think that on some occasions, the guy who first said "Ignorance is bliss," wasn't a total imbecile after all.

* * *

"...and I think it is in our best interest…" the rest I drowned out. Dr. Steve wasn't necessarily a bad headmaster, but when the student body hears about one of his lectures it's the same as someone telling you that as your punishment you have to watch grass die. It was a slow, boring process that wasn't exactly painful but made you want it to be.

Grant must have had the same train of thought. He was leaned back against the seat, his head purposely lolled to the side as he pretended to snore. I bit back a laugh but felt a small smile appear on my face.

A strangled laugh bubbled out on the other side of me and I saw Jonas hunched over slightly, holding his sides with his shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter.

"_Behave_ yourselves!" a voice hissed. Grant and I sat up and turned our gazes to the podium and our principal while Jonas was nodding like a bobble head at the teacher that shushed us. He was doing it so much that I half expected his head to fall off his shoulders.

"…so both the Blackthorne and Gallagher faculty have agreed for another exchange." My attention snapped to the rotund man standing there with his optimistic smile.

"There will be a delegation of fifteen Blackthorne students for each grade at Gallagher Academy and vice versa. To the chosen students, please prepare your bags. You will be leaving tonight at exactly 6:30. I am sad to say that I will not be attending this exchange, but those of our trusted staff will be chaperoning."

Trusted staff. The image of Sebastian Watkins flashed in my mind; the malicious Technology Education professor that attacked us. Ioseph Cavan, founder of the Circle of Cavan. They were the ones that invaded the exam that night at Gallagher Academy. Watkins was part of it.

Exam night ultimately led me to think of the book. Why the hell was it there? I hadn't read it at all during the summer—I never had a chance to. It had a lock on it; picking at it didn't lead me anywhere. But that wasn't what made me think it was strange.

There was an inscription in the maroon leather—something that I could only assume were hieroglyphics. Hieroglyphics that refused to be interpreted—no matter how many things Advanced Cryptography had taught us. Beside the book, just the name Cavan was enough information to pull up dozens of Covert Operations Reports.

Hacking into the system took longer than expected, but it was well worth it. A complete article was hidden behind the firewalls of the Blackthorne Database. It was an organization built off of double agents that was hundreds of years old; according to the article. Meaning it survived hundreds of years of CIA and other organizations hunting after them. The goal of the terrorist group was assumed to be money and power; as are other groups. But that didn't explain what I wanted to know most.

Why were they after Cammie?

I wasn't blind to it, even through the chaos it was still obvious that they were circulating around her. A hand dragged me out of my thinking for a moment.

"Zach, we've got to pack. The lecture's over." I followed the hand to its owner's face. Jonas.

"Yeah man, we can't keep the Gallagher Girls waiting, can we?" Grant's ridiculous grin broke me out of revere and I smirked, the thoughts of Cavan fading to the back of my mind before the question that bothered me the most could reappear.

_Were they the ones who killed my parents?_

"Look out Gallagher Academy, here we come!"

A scoff. "Say that again, and your chances with Bex are as good as gone."

* * *

The Pros and Cons about Riding a Helicopter with My Junior Class

(A list made by Zachary Goode)

PRO: With the NSA approved blindfolds on, it's perfect for a nice, long nap.

CON: Mario Rodriguez and Cole Jacobson snore. A lot.

PRO: There was a bathroom when someone needed to do go.

CON: The students had freaking blindfolds on, exactly how do you aim for the urinal?

PRO: The helicopter was very bulletproof, which put many of the guys at ease.

CON: Solomon, whom was riding the same helicopter, immediately lectured people who slacked off (Mario and Cole didn't get their beauty sleep after all).

PRO: You know when you finally take off that stupid blindfold; you'll be greeted by a certain Gallagher Girl.

CON: When you step off the helicopter and look for said Gallagher Girl, you're disappointed you don't see her.

* * *

I've always noticed that I could get a girl's attention. Always.

Jonas told me it was probably because there was something on my face, or in my teeth and not to get cocky about it because it got annoying ("Now why would I ever get cocky about that?" I asked. Jonas rolled his eyes, "You're doing it again." "Doing what? Smirking?" "_That_ and being a pompous jackass.").

Grant told me it was because I had such good looking friends with me ("Trust me, man. That brunette that's looking over here is all thanks to me." "Whatever you say, Grant." "It is!").

I remember my dad once saying it was because I was a Goode and we always get the women ("The ladies can't resist us, Zach. Remember that." "If I remember correctly, _I _resisted you. You stopped being a womanizer to date me, and even _then_ I didn't date you!" "You're wearing a ring now—OW!" "You begged me, remember?" "Ah, Sarah, not in from the boy, he looks up to me!").

So I was surprised when I stepped into the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women that not one girl looked at me. Wait, that's not right. They looked at me. But then quickly turned away.

"Huh, maybe you _do _have something on your face this time." Jonas said as yet another Gallagher Girl, I think it was Kim Lee, detoured herself away from us. "I wonder what's up."

"Yeah, and did you guys notice that _Buckingham _made that welcome speech instead of Cammie's mom? The headmistress is supposed to do that, right?" Grant asked, as if commenting on the weather.

"I think everyone noticed that." I spoke as Jonas nodded in agreement.

Headmistress Rachel Morgan; young brunette with blue-green eyes and, from what half our class said, the hottest principal ever.

Professor Patricia Buckingham; oldest faculty member with gray hair and blue eyes and, according to Tim, looked like his uptight grandmother. There was a definite contrast between the two.

"We'll get the answers soon enough." Jonas said simply, glancing over Grant's shoulder.

"How do you know that?" Grant questioned tugging on his suitcase.

The R&D student lifted his finger and pointed past Grant and I. "From them."

I suddenly had a feeling that four Gallagher Girls were behind me. And shockingly, I was wrong. I only saw three.

* * *

"So you guys came." When I first realized that the Junior Gallagher Girls were avoiding me like the plague, I automatically thought the first girl that would actually look me in the eyes would be Cammie. I suppose I was close; the first person was her British roommate.

"What? Not happy to see us, Baxter?" I asked.

"Not all of you. Some of you I tolerate." Grant grinned at her while the British girl mirrored him.

"Hey Jonas, have you been working on that GVM model?" a curious, southern accent asked. I saw Jonas immediately perk up, not that I was surprised. The process was predictable; they started out shy and then went to amiably talking about our curriculum.

"I guess you're stuck with me," McHenry said, her bored eyes narrowing. "Don't look at me like that, I'm not exactly thrilled to be stuck talking with you either. But our roommates,"—she gestured toward the two chattering couples—"aren't really going to pay us much attention at this point."

I rolled my eyes, knowing she was right. "Whatever, where's Gallagher Girl? Is she in one of her secret passageways again?" I glanced around the foyer, recalling the brick pattern I had to push to get in.

Around the time I spotted the right section of the wall, I noticed it was uncharacteristically quiet. Bex wasn't flipping her shiny black hair anymore and Liz wasn't rambling about protons and neutrons anymore. Even Macey grew quiet and still. My mind raced to Cammie.

"Where's Cammie, Macey?" I repeated a bit more urgently. She crossed her arms and looked away, unresponsive. I spun on my heel to Bex, seeing her back as straight as a ramrod. "Where is she?"

Bex let an almost inaudible sigh and crossed her arms stubbornly just as Macey did. "Zach, that is confidential info—" but I didn't let her finish.

"Just answer the goddamn question. Where is she?" I demanded. Bex glared at me, but said nothing. My eyes went to Grant, his face full of confusion and he looked back helplessly.

I heard a soft whimper and turned my gaze to Liz. Her skinny arms hugged her fragile looking form with her head ducked down, her long blond hair covering her face. Concerned, Jonas put his hands onto her shoulders as they began to shake.

"Liz," at my tone, both Gallagher Girls pinned a fiery glare at me as Jonas gave me a disapproving shake of his head. I tried again. "Liz, where is Cammie?"

A tired sigh. If it was from my roommates, Bex or Macey, I didn't know. I was still looking at the trembling figure of Liz Sutton. "Let's take this someplace more private."

My eyes took that moment to realize that we caught some unwanted attention from curious freshmen. I nodded curtly, heading towards the closest room, my heart hammering ferociously in my chest, the pulsing in my ears drowning out any other sound. Where was she?

Someone shut the door and the minute the click of the doorknob sounded, Liz let a strangled sob out. I twisted back around to see that fresh tear tracks trailed down her flushed cheeks.

"Cammie—she's,"—she sniffled—"We don't know what happened, she just…_disappeared_." Her Southern accented voice cracked.

More tears ran down her face as she leaned back against Jonas, his arms circling her tiny waist. I stood there, my feet rooted to the ground beneath me. I slowly felt my limps become numb. Then Liz whispered the one thing I wished wasn't true.

"She's gone, Zach. Cammie's gone."

* * *

"_When you're gone  
The pieces of my heart are missing you  
When you're gone  
The face I came to know is missing too." –When You're Gone—Avril Lavigne_

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_**(Author's Note) – **_Yeah, that was pretty clichéd at the end there, wasn't it? And Liz was OOC, my explanation for that: Yes, she's a Gallagher Girl and she's strong and they don't cry, but Cammie was extremely close to her (as you all know), I just figured, if someone was going to show tears it was going to be Liz (NOT bagging on Liz, just thought it fit her character). Besides…this info of Cam being gone is pretty fresh for her. Give her time.

Ummm…besides the OOC-ness and Clichéd-ness, how was it? Good? Bad? Marry it or Bury it? Tell me in a **REVIEW** please (:

Also: **KEEP** _or_ **DELETE****? **Because I don't think I'll be continuing if no one's interested…

So review if you'd like this story to stay up (: Please? First **5** reviewers get a sneak peek? Thanks for reading! :)

~diva~

P.S. I've become a **BETA**. If you would like me to beta a story of yours please, say so in your review and/or PM and we'll talk. (:


	2. For Her

_**(Author's Note) – **_What's up, everyone? First, THANK YOU SO, SO, SO, SO, SO MUCH for reviewing, adding, reading, and supporting. You guys are so nice and it makes me smile so much when I log into my email and see your comments (: So Thank YOU! Arigoto, Merci, Danke, Gracias, Do je, Tack! All of which are: THANK YOU!

And: SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! Thirteen days of silence, ALMOST TWO WEEKS! GAH! So sorry to everyone about that ): I appreciate all of your patience :)

* * *

It makes me feel bad that I can't reply to some anonymous reviewers so here (if you have an account and I haven't replied to you, SORRY! I'll get to you soon, I swear!):

Bridget: Aw, you're making me blush. Lol, thank you though, your enthusiastic review really helped me with this. I'm glad you enjoyed it! And thank you to your three BFFs too! (: Sorry for not sending a sneak peek, but I don't exactly have a way of contacting you. But I appreciate all your nice comments! (:

K'TheChameleon'J: Lol, I know you have an account, but I don't think I got back to you on it, so I thought, "What heck?" So THANK YOU FOR REVIEWING!

KiWiXD: Lol, that was funny. I love your epic review; it was appreciated. THANK YOU! As for Zammie moments, I have some in mind, it'll come sooner or later (I'm leaning closer to 'sooner' though) Hope you like this chapter!

MadPrincess: Thank you! It means so much to me that you like this fanfiction series of mine! Here's your update! (: Again: THANK YOU!

zammieness is awesome: I totally agree with your name! Thanks for reviewing, here's the chapter! (:

GDRAGONLUVERD: YOU LISTEN TO G-D! Thank you for reviewing, and yes, Taeyang IS sexy (:

Amber: Lol, thanks for reviewing! Here is your update! (:

like you care: Lol! I hope you like this update then. I apologize for your anger management problem, LOL! Whenever I think of that I think of "This anger management class is pissing me off!" haha Hope you enjoy this chapter!

breeee: Thanks for reading both stories! And THANKS FOR REVIEWING!

Molly: Thanks for reviewing, I'm glad you love the story, and it's definitely here to stay! (:

_**ENJOY!**_

_**

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_**Chapter Two: For Her**_

_Time__: 2:58 p.m. __Date__: September 20__th_

_Location__: Gallagher Academy_

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

I tried not to think about it. It only led to being distracted; something I couldn't afford if I wanted good grades. Thinking about it dulled my senses, made me dazed; I saw the proof of that when I was in COW and I was practically dragged out by my worried roommates when class was over. Not knowing what happened to her drove me insane, but like hell was I going to show that to anyone.

I sustained my mask and cover. I ate when I had to (even filet mignon and crème brûlée didn't seem as delicious as before).

I slept as much as I could (I'm somewhat short of becoming an insomniac now, great right?).

I talked enough to keep them from being suspicious ("Grant? What's that smell; is something burning...Cologne? What cologne? I never brought any…well what were you doing in my suitcase anyway...What glass bottle—oh god, Grant, that was my extra credit acid…Don't panic! It's mild. But you may want to get out of those clothes before they catch on fire…Yeah, I know I'm funny. I'm cute too. But I'm not kidding man, that stuff is flammable—_oh fuck_! Jonas, where's the fire extinguisher!")

I studied enough to pass (to hell with A's, B's are just as good).

I may have been more violent during P&E but not many guys thought anything about that. They knew I could kick ass and to those who didn't know, well, they did now (and the Gallagher Infirmary had gotten shockingly busier).

**Blackthorne-Gallagher Exchange Day: 5**

**15:03 Hours: Operative Goode entered The Gallagher Library to see Agents Sutton and North knee-deep in books and laptops. The Operative was not surprised. And also observed Agent McHenry reading a fashion magazine—**_**Vogue. **_**(Note: What is it with girls and clothing magazines? Just go the store and buy the damn clothes!) **

**15:04 Hours: Agents Baxter and Newman entered the scene bickering about Agent Newman's "bloody pervert" and "idiotic" magazines as Agent Newman protested: "Oh c'mon Bex! I'm a guy! We have needs!" Again: the Operative was not surprised.**

**15:05 Hours: Operative Goode was ambushed by a very fluster, very excited Agent North. The Operative wasn't kidding when he thought that Agent North would shit his pants (which he better not, because those were Operative Goode's jeans) from the excitement—that information, however, has not been confirmed yet. Okay, Operative Goode admits he was a bit surprised at this development. But was even more surprised at the message his friend had told him. **

"We found it! We know where Cammie is!" And that was it. He said the name we were all avoiding ever since we got to Gallagher Academy. I still remembered the night they told me. I remembered it to thoroughly, it was too clear in my mind. Liz's hot tears, Bex's determined face, Macey's dazed expression; it was all too vivid.

* * *

_"She's gone, Zach. Cammie's gone." I was still rooted to the ground. _

_It wasn't that I didn't know what to do, it was the fact that I didn't know what to do first. _

_Should I have been trying to console the bawling little blond, or should I leave that to Jonas? _

_Should I have started interrogating the other roommates about what they knew about her disappearance? _

_Should I have already started hacking the Database for her information? _

_Hell, should I have been getting plane tickets to Nebraska to start my hunt for her? But I didn't do any of that. I just lowered my head pathetically and whispered softly, "When?"_

"_It was sometime in August. She never turned up for the beginning of the year. We just assumed that since Headmistress Morgan was gone as well, it was something with family." I listened. I registered that the voice talking was female, but I didn't care who it was. I needed information._

"_But then we got word from Tina's 'sources'"—the voice laughed bitterly after they emphasized 'sources'—"who knew she'd be right. Her rumor was that Cammie was missing—kidnapped actually. And she was bloody telling everyone about it during CoveOps."—British accent, it was Bex—"No one actually _believed _her, but our new teacher—Mick's mum I think—was frustrated about us jabbering and confirmed it. The class was shocked, even Tina, but we didn't believe it and practically attacked Professor Buckingham for information." She stopped talking. And I finally looked up._

"_And what did she tell you?" I asked quietly._

_Bex pursed her lips, but replied, "She was kidnapped in Nebraska. That was that. That was all she told us."_

_I was still frozen, probably putting an ice sculpture to shame right then. "I see,"_

"_But," this made me look up again. Bex was staring at the floor but raised her gaze to me. And she said with conviction, "We'll find her." _

_Liz wasn't crying anymore. Bex was practically radiating determination. And Macey? She was sitting still on a seat, staring dazedly at one of the many book filled walls surrounding us. _

"_But—" Liz started, blue eyes doubtful._

_Bex cut in. "We'll find her."_

_

* * *

_

Grant and Bex's banter ended as abruptly as the announcement was made. Macey's hands stopped their leafing as the page she was about to turn lay forgotten. I turned to Jonas straight on and felt the heat of Grant's eyes on the back of my head.

"What?" I asked softly, though my voice was rough; as if I hadn't spoken in a long time. I was squelching any feeling remotely similar to hope. I had hacked the Database as well and the last update on the whereabouts of Cameron Ann Morgan was the fact that, from what her grandparents had said, she disappeared during the day on August 12th. _Status: MIA._

The Southern Belle's smile widened (if it was humanely possible). Staring at her almost made my own face muscles ache. "We hacked the Database." She said simply and Jonas practically pranced over to get the laptop they were working on.

He came back and held it open for me. "Apparently, an operative named Olivia, or something like that, was investigating all of this and the latest Covert Operations Report she left is on where she found Cam."

I stared at the small text on the laptop and began to read aloud.

"**Covert Operations Report**

**Day 39**

**The Subject's movements have been vague and elusive for a total of 6 days but came to an abrupt stop today at 14:53 hours. It was a surprisingly sloppy move on the Subject's part. I had tracked her trail through a purchase of—"**

Then a pair of manicured hands snatched the laptop away.

"What the hell, Macey?" I asked exasperated. "I was—"

She held up her perfected filed finger and cut me off. "Shut up, Zach."

A second passed. Bex moved away from her spot with Grant and stood before the silent ebony haired girl with the computer. "Macey, what is it?"

Her bright blue orbs moved from the screen up to meet Bex's caramel colored ones, then to Liz's animated smile.

"Girls," then she turned back to us and continued, still calm. But was I the only one that noticed that her eyes weren't bored anymore? "Boys, pack your bags. Liz, you think you can get us through the gates with that tricked out van of yours?"

The pint-sized blond almost looked offended. "Of course I can," she said indigently.

"It's settled then." Bex stated with finality. I stole a glance at Grant but only saw him shrug.

"And exactly what's settled?" Grant asked slowly.

At this, all the Gallagher Girls smiled knowingly, this, quite frankly, was a little creepy. I wasn't sure whether to be excited or frightened for my well being. "A road trip." Bex said simply.

My eyebrows shot up. "To where?"

Liz spoke up, "To Cammie." My stomach flipped; with excitement, that I didn't know. But whatever it was I went with it.

Bex smiled; the type that made me hide a startled wince, which widened Jonas' alarmed eyes and probably made Grant fall even hard for the British Bombshell (I always knew we had very different tastes in women). "In Pennsylvania."

* * *

_Time__: 3:47 p.m. __Date__: September 21__st_

_Location__: Somewhere in Pennsylvania_

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

Things That I've Learned about The Three (Infamous) Gallagher Girls While on This Rescue Mission-slash-Road Trip

1. Bex was a worse with cars than Jonas which was saying a lot considering he demolished three Blackthorne vehicles (a van that ran up a curb and into tree, a fairly old Honda that's door was smashed off, and a Toyota that was tested with a tank full of Jonas Original Fuel; yeah, it exploded).

2. While all of our hairs were practically blonde, brunette and ebony colored jungles on top of our heads, McHenry's hair stayed the same. Some girls call that lucky, I just call it creepy and unnatural (but of course when I commented like that, McHenry through her map at me. Worst navigator ever).

3. Liz tends to mumble in her sleep (which Jonas found "absolutely adorable" which Grant retorted with "you really need to grow a pair, man").

4. That each was willing to risk everything for Cammie. I knew they would, I just didn't realize how much until that point.

And 'that point' happened to be when Bex stopped the van at a recreation center with a giant, paint splattered sign with twinkling Christmas lights surrounding it. _What the hell?_

_

* * *

_

**Allentown Community Recreation Center Presents The Musical Stylings Of:**

_**AUBURN**_

**Reserve Concert Tickets At the Cheap Price of $6.99 Now Before They Sell Out!**

**Who: YOU!**

**Where: Here**

**When: September 2****nd**** 2010**

**6:00 p.m. – 9:00 p.m.**

**DON'T MISS IT! :)**

"Sounds like a crappy birthday invite to me," spoke Grant. I nodded absentmindedly, still staring at the cheesy sign. I was half-expecting an abandoned warehouse full of Circle agents, _not_ a Rec Center that offered Math tutoring to middle school kids on Wednesdays.

The sound of a door being opened snapped my attention to McHenry, or how I would delicately put it, the only goddamn person that was even presentable after being cooped up in a van for over 24 hours. She marched her pretentious name brand heeled shoes up to what resembled a ticket booth.

"What's she doing?" Jonas moved his glasses and rubbed his crusty eyes.

I shrugged and turned my gaze back to the raven haired girl, who was now conversing with an employee that was in some serious need of Clearasil. I leaned more into my seat, hoping someone would start some type of conversation; I needed to be distracted from thinking about her.

Macey chose that moment to pop back into the van. "Hope you guys like listening to Auburn."

"Oh for fuck's sake McHenry," Grant exclaimed. "You actually _bought _tickets?"

The Senator's daughter narrowed her eyes, obviously irate. "Yes, Newman, I did. Now take the goddamn ticket and _shut up_." Macey turned to Bex. "What the hell do you _see _in him?"

Grant sucked in a breath to retort but I beat him to it. "Cut the crap, what's this got to do with Cammie?"

My patience was pretty damn great throughout the road trip; I was proud of myself for that. But it was like a rubber band being stretched and stretched until it finally snapped under the tension. My breaking point was right then.

Everyone seemed to sober at the mention of our missing friend. Liz twisted around from her spot in the driver's seat, small, purple crescents resting beneath her powder blue eyes. "I—_we _think Cam's going to be at that concert."

"Yes, because kidnappers take their victims to concerts on a regular basis." I replied dryly.

The sleep-deprived Einsteinette didn't seem to be insulted. Probably too _tired _to be insulted_, _I thought sympathetically. "That's the thing Zach." A strange alertness appeared in her eyes that no amount of caffeine could have brought. "I don't think the kidnappers are with her. I think she escaped."

A beat.

Grant was the first to break the silence: "What the hell are we doing here then? Let's go find her."

"No," Jonas disagreed quickly. _What? _He noticed the dark look I sent him and hurriedly explained, "Chances are that the kidnappers are around here still looking for her. We're not fully equipped to take them assuming their numbers are large. Plus we don't know for sure whether Cammie's in hiding right now, even if we did manage to find her there's a big possibility that we'll actually lead the enemy to her."

To my chagrin, I knew he was right. It seemed as if the only options we could even consider were to have Cammie be in danger alone or be in even deeper shit with us.

Grant glanced out the window in frustration and said, "Whoever the enemy agents are, I'm sure they already know about Cam being at that concert. They're not stupid."

"We'll beat them to her, then." Bex said simply. I stole a glance at her skeptically. I couldn't read much through the calm expression on her face and it annoyed me. But what annoyed me even more were the facts that she could even be so serene at that moment, so apathetic, though it only made me (reluctantly) give my respect to her.

"We should just wait for the concert tonight. We'll find her there," suggested Liz.

Macey spoke up. "You guys are forgetting one thing." I knew exactly what she was talking about.

"And what would that be?" Jonas asked, most likely running the information through his head. Like a scientist, he wasn't one that liked any data, no matter how large or small, to be missing from his analytic eyes.

I looked Jonas dead in the eyes and finished for Macey, "She's the Chameleon. If she doesn't want to be seen, she's not."

It was silent again, that is, until Grant got up from his seat. If you haven't known him for so long, you would have thought he was relaxed and nonchalant. But I knew better. He was determined, willing to take up the challenge of spotting one of the best pavement artists of our generation.

He stomped right up to Macey and held his hand out. "Handover the ticket, McHenry."

* * *

_Time__: 6:37 p.m. __Date__: September 21__st_

_Location__: Allentown Community Recreation Center_

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

"How are you guys doing over at the concession stand?" The question flowed into my left ear as I leaned against the wall of a small hut of junk good. I took notice of everything.

Seven people were in line for food; two guys and five girls. The large stereos amplified a song I didn't know the name of as the small, but still impressive, crowd whirred with applause and song lyrics I could have cared less of. There were also three bulky bodyguards (one left-handed) in uniform close to the four exits in the large, colorfully lit room. And absolutely no sight of the spunky, dirty blonde headed girl that I missed.

"Nothing, Virus." I whispered to Jonas through the comms unit. A variety of voices chimed in negatives similar to mine and I squelched the frustration that was boiling in my chest. I continued acting as if I was interested in the performers dancing on the stage.

I heaved myself up from leaning on the wall and went in line for the food. Two of the girls left to try to shove their way up to the singer (and failing).

Sometime after a hotdog, half a can of Pepsi and another song about breaking up from the singer, something happened.

"Oh God," _Macey. _"You guys, get out of her—" Static crackled endlessly in my ear_. _A new kind of panic enveloped my senses.

Every spy knew that a block of static on a comms unit was because of a disturbance—an interception, which means _someone _from the outside _made _that interception. It means we were found, information was being drained and downloaded, and ultimately, we were screwed.

I controlled my posture. I didn't flinch. I didn't do anything but continue to drink my fizzy beverage. I didn't let out any of the dread that was flooding my veins at that moment. The idiot who said that "bottling up" your emotions was a bad thing obviously wasn't an operative; it was the key to our success. I glanced over at the entrance, where Macey was stationed, expecting to see the red curls of her wig. I didn't.

My eyes scanned across the top of the crowd, knowing full well that the populace of the audience had decreased by one Senator's daughter and increased by two adults.

One woman in a gray jacket was swaying slightly to the music; standing vaguely around the area Macey was assigned. And one man with a navy blue _Philadelphia Phillies _hat plopped onto his shiny bald head applauding across the room.

_They're here, _I thought gravely. The static continued sparking around in my ear as I started to move closer to the stage, where Grant was positioned. My eyes looking through the fake glasses sitting on my face, trying to locate the shaggy blonde disguised head that told me it was my roommate.

_Where the hell is everyone? _I thought rapidly. Another song ended and I cheered along with the people around me, discreetly glancing at one of the exits, where Bex was supposed to be. For once in my life, I was actually relieved to see Rebecca Baxter and her short ebony bob. Her large, dark brown contacts stared back at me, trying to convey a message I didn't understand. She was panicked; that was all I knew, and it wasn't exactly helpful either.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, inconspicuously readjusting the peach colored comms unit, praying to the Lord that it would stop its insistent buzzing. I wasn't a religious person, I guess I was a bit of an atheist, but someone up there must have heard me. Because the static stopped and I listened to the familiar whirring of machines back in the van where the two R&D students were. An inaudible sigh escaped my parted lips.

I started moving closer to another exit. "Virus, how are we doing?"

Silence. The tidal wave of alarm crashed back down on me, wishing terribly that they would answer. "Duke, Duchess, Peacock…what's up over there?" Nothing.

I almost held my breath. What was happening? I turned back to the other exit and I couldn't stop the shock from widening my eyes. Baxter wasn't there.

I ran a hand through my faux hair and whirled around to see the crowd singing along to the song. Then it struck me. Among one of the heads I saw the top of a dirty blond haired girl, a girl not so short or tall and not so thin or fat, walking away to the opposite end of the room, towards the exit. I restrained my feet to the ground for ten seconds and took off.

My mind was conjuring up images of my teammates tied to chairs, slumped over, unconscious with dark red blood spewing from cuts, slashes and tears of flesh. Faces so swollen from beatings that they were barely distinguishable. The graphic pictures only got worse and worse as I took more steps towards the girl. Another half of my brain, however, was painting the illustration of Cammie back at the academy, safe and out of harm's way. I was torn between feeling terror and excitement.

I made it out of the room and was surprised to see the sky wasn't the soothing blue anymore. No, the air was cool and shiver-inducing, the color of the sky about as black as coal. My eyes dashed around and saw the familiar wisps of blonde-brown hair moving towards the parking lot. I tailed her.

I moved around the many brands of cars and trailed after the girl—the one I predicted as Cammie. Her scruffy sneakers halted right in front of a black van. Then my wish from before came true. The comms unit buzzed back to life and I detected the sound of shuffling papers and whirring machines once again. I opened my mouth to tell them mission accomplished, but the words died in my throat.

The voice was female. It was smooth and commanding. Nothing like Liz's soft Alabamian accent or Bex's exotic British one, or even Macey's calm, bored and slightly irritable voice. But more importantly, the voice was familiar. I grew still.

"Stop, it's over." I was sure the voice had come from the comms unit. But at that exact moment, a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder, as if to prove the point. I moved a bit, but another menacing hand dropped heavily down on my other shoulder.

I heaved forward, twisting around to aim a kick at the tall, dark figure behind me, the fake glasses falling to the ground. But he countered immediately and my face was smashed into the asphalt, one of the menacing hands pressing hard on the back of my neck.

Something warm was slapped on my arm and I struggled more, the small sharp rocks of the ground digging into my arms and knees. The sensation of unwelcomed warmth scorched through my skin, the feeling felt so familiar. The alienated heat wave felt as if it were crawling under the layer of skin and my vision blurred. I tried to turn my eyes back to the van in front of me, I only caught the foggy glimpse of beaten up sneakers.

I felt so drowsy, an unnatural groggy feeling invading my head. My eyelids suddenly felt heavy, so heavy that it almost burned to keep them open. I tried blinking away the blurriness, but somewhere after my fifth blink, my eyelids stayed close—they were sealed shut. But there was one last thing that was clear as glass. It was the eerie voice that nagged at me to remember it. It spoke up through the comms unit.

"Stop fighting Zach. It's over,"

Everything was happening fast, it could have been drugs slithering through my bloodstream but I could have sworn that I heard someone say two words. Two simple words that led to complex things. The two words she used to best describe me. It came out as a four worded phrase though.

"_Stop, Blackthorne Boy. For me,"_

I didn't know what exactly happened, but I did. For her.

* * *

_**(Author's Note) –**_ Um, mushy ending? I felt that it was too mushy for Zach. But sadly, I just know that if I try changing the ending, I'll end up changing the whole chapter (meaning longer wait for update). So I sucked it. My friend told me that this was too rushed, yeah, I guess it was. But, I just thought I'd use something with some action in it for the beginning (you know, like the beginnings of DJAG and OSGY). This, my friends, was an attempt at it.

Anyways: AUBURN, is a real singer—she's from MN, oh yeah! REPRESENTING MINNESOTA! Like Owl City! I just had to do that. (:

So um: Good? Bad? Marry it? Bury it? (I'll probably ask that for a while, it's starting to become a habit)

Hopefully you guys enjoyed reading, if you haven't, terribly sorry. Huh, you know, I'm not exactly sure if many actually read the A/Ns, so if you do usually read my lame A/Ns could you say something like, I don't know, "Paramore" (whom I am listening to right now, The Only Exception is an awesome song) in your review. Oh, that reminds me: REVIEW PLEASE!

First: **10 **Reviewers get the sneak peek! Thanks for reading and taking the time to review (if you do)!

~diva~

P.S. I'm thinking of getting a Beta, would anyone be willing to beta this story? Thank you (:


	3. Memories

_**(Author's Note): **_- Um…well, hello. I think it goes without saying that I feel like absolute shit (pardon my French) for neglecting my stories for so EFFING LONG. ): I'm very, very sorry everyone! I'm sure you probably hear authors blab on and on about their school lives as excuses so I'll keep mine short and (slightly bitter)sweet. School—registration for next year's courses weighed down my mind. Flu—I was sick for basically the whole winter break and the following week after it. Show Choir—I love singing so much but I feel nervous about adding dancing to the mix for our performance. I'm about as coordinated as Liz. And SCHOOL, SCHOOL, SCHOOL. I need straight A's or I freak out and berate myself.

Well, that was basically my condensed version of my hectic life. Before even writing fanfiction—when I only read—it frustrated me to no end when an author wouldn't finish an amazing story. So please don't think I'm doing this on purpose, because I understand the feeling (maybe take out the "amazing" part) but, I understand.

So for all those who stuck with this story while I was doing Trig Functions on Exams; you guys are just AMAZING. Thank you all so very much for reading and giving feedback and your support, I appreciate it so much. (:

* * *

_Responses to Anonymous Reviewers_:

like you care : I'm glad that you loved it, thank you for reviewing!

Gallagher Rose: G-Rose! Oh my goodness, I haven't talked to you for a VERY long time. My fault on that part, but I'm sure you understand about school and tests and such, right? But Anyways, thank you for reviewing and your comments mean so much to me. It really boosts my confidence, you know? Thanks for the review!

mll9779: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it (: Thanks for the feedback

A: Why thank you! And I gotta say, when I saw your name I thought of Pretty Little Liars. LOL. Thanks for the review!

cammiegoode: Ah, you're making me blush! Ha, but that's a pretty good question, no one's really asked me that before. I guess I write in Zach's POV mostly because I like reading his point of view and I guess writing for males for me are easier than females…weird, right? I'm a tomboy so I guess that makes sense. But I've written in Z's POV for so long I doubt I can do Cammie's…But thanks for reviewing!

pvwhitegirl7494: Hopefully you're still reading this story even if I haven't updated in FOREVER. But thank you for reviewing!

mariposa: I always loved the word 'mariposa' it means 'butterfly' in Spanish, right? Anyway, thanks for reviewing and your comments!

Guciiiyudith: Haha, thank you! I appreciate that, but sadly no Cammie point of view in this—I've just written in Zach's point of view so long it's like my writing style now. I'll see if I can fit any Cammie in the future chapters! It'd be a nice idea.

Without further ado, HERE IS THE LONG AWAITED CHAPTER!

**2.18.11 : Happy Birthday to one of my best friends, Haley Z-H ! I absolutely love you girl ! :]**

* * *

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

**2040 hours**

Pain. That was what I was experiencing under the hand of my unknown enemy. The hand was bending my arm so hard that I dreaded looking at myself in a mirror, frightened at what odd angle my socket would be positioned in. I bit the inside of cheek to muffle the scream when a disgusting, metallic taste exploded onto my tongue.

"Wait!" A shout cried from my comms unit—it was the commanding voice again, but it was anything but smooth at that moment. It pained my left ear and my half-drugged brain was tempted to tell it to shut up. "Stop this is instance!"—like a teacher. _Like a headmistress_.

"_Stop_!" it was a new voice, a younger voice.

It came somewhere in front of me and I warily cracked open my eyes to see the scruffy sneakers connected to jeans beating rapidly against the asphalt, getting closer and closer. The hand on my arm moved again and I bit harder and squeezed my eyes closed again. "He stopped! He _stopped_! Now get off of him!"

A minute passed as the pain was easing away into numbness. I didn't know whether which was worse.

The weight on my back relented and in my mind I saw myself turning around and kicking whoever it was in the face. But in reality my face stayed on the rough gravel and my legs weren't moving. _Damn it. _

Suddenly I felt a new hand, much gentler than the one before, move my good arm and flipped me over. A groan of protest escaped my mouth before I could bite my tongue.

"Sorry!" the female voice whispered, it sounded close. It wasn't loud, something I was grateful for, or quite as bossy as the one who spoke through my comms unit. I decided I liked it. I tried opening my eyes but it was no use. It was as if a fog was thrown into my green irises; I couldn't see anything but blurred lines and dark colors. All I saw a fuzzy outline of a head with short hair hovering over me.

"Are you okay?—wait no, that's a stupid question,"—which it was—"I'm so sorry, but this is going to hurt a lot." Then the hand reached for my arm again.

She was right. It hurt like hell and I cursed so much a sailor would have looked like a priest. But of course I did so in Russian.

"Sorry!" she apologized again. But it was okay, my head was seated on something warm and soft. "I'm so sorry…you guys weren't supposed to be here…" the voice rambled quietly and sighed. I stirred a bit, wanting her to continue talking. "Go to sleep, Blackthorne Boy."

And I happily did.

* * *

**0100 hours**

The very first thing I noticed was that my arm didn't hurt as bad anymore; it felt heavy and sore. The second thing I noticed was that I didn't have my warm pillow anymore. I was tempted to whine like a child for it back, but my lips wouldn't move.

"How did they get here?" whispered a girl. "They were supposed to stay at the academy—"

A deep voice cut in. "—I know they were—"

But the girl plowed on. "—they had no reason to come here. What did you tell them?"

A pause and I pondered tiredly whether they were going to keep talking or just shut up.

The girl's tone changed to urgency. "What did you tell them, Mr. Montgomery?"

A sigh—one I assumed was from the man. "First of all, call me Lawrence when sessions are out. And what I told them was the safest thing for you in this situation."

"What about them? What would you tell them to keep _them _safe?" she demanded.

Another pause and if I hadn't fallen asleep the second she asked the question, I would have heard the man sigh again and whisper, "The truth."

I slept again.

* * *

**0225 hours**

"You didn't have to be so rough with all of them," Headmistress Morgan said tersely.

"I apologize, Mrs. Morgan. But they weren't cooperating." a deeper voice explained, "You know as well as I do that they were to be at school—not here."

A sigh. "I know,"

"That's not an excuse to assault the kids either, Lawrence." This voice was male; Joe Solomon? "Now we have six unconscious kids on our hands, and it's likely that they'll find out."

A small pause. Lawrence continued. His low voice irritated. "Give them the tea then. This isn't my department; it was your responsibility to keep them at the school if I remember correctly, Joe. My responsibility was to keep the Subject—"

"I know all of that," Solomon stated icily.

"Then why didn't you do it?"

* * *

**0520 hours**

An intercom resounded annoyingly like the buzz of an alarm clock. I wanted nothing more than to shove my head under the pillow to block out the noise, but my arms still felt like lead—stiff and heavy. So I unwillingly listened to the upbeat voice.

"…_We have just started our decent to Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. All passengers in compartment 13 exit through Door B…We will be at the gate in approximately 12 minutes and 4 seconds, thank you for flying…"_

"God that lady is annoying," a voice whispered—Grant?

"I know. Who the hell can be that perky in _five-_fucking-in-the-_morning_?" grumbled another voice, one I guessed was Jonas. They both sounded close.

Grant scoffed. "Definitely not you."

I heard a loud _thwack! _and an empathetic _"Ouch! What the heck Jonas?"_ I would have laughed if my throat wasn't so dry.

"Mr. Newman, Mr. North—Headmistress Morgan has requested you be seated in the compartment with the others," a foreign voice informed.

"Thank you, but we're both comfortable right here." Grant declined politely—always the gentleman—and I could practically picture Jonas nodding excessively. Someone sighed.

"Very well, Mr. Newman."

I heard a door shut and remembered Jonas saying it was 5:00 am. I went back to sleep.

* * *

**0930 hours**

"He's dead." Macey deadpanned.

"He's _not _dead," Grant said scathingly. "He just _looks_ like he's dead."

"Guys, we should leave, they said Zach needs his rest. And God knows we all do too," Jonas mumbled warily. I stirred a bit and cracked my eyes open to immediately squeezed them shut again from the light. I heard shuffling and opened my eyes again, blinking rapidly.

"_See, _he's not dead." Grant smirked triumphantly at McHenry, who was busy rolling her eyes. She turned on her heel and left the room—a room I finally realized was the infirmary at Gallagher.

Jonas came up to me, "Hey man, you alright? You got banged up pretty bad,"

Grant smirked, "Zach would _love _to get banged up—"

I cut in hoarsely, "Try saying that again when I'm better."

"Big words for a crippled guy," He said laughingly. I would have decked him if not for the sling on my arm.

I groaned and brought up my (somewhat) good arm to shield my eyes, "You're such a douche, Newman."

Even with my arm blocking my sight of him, I knew he was smiling like a goof. "Zach's back."

My arm went back to my side and I looked around the room. The sickeningly sterile air reminded me of a hospital. I wrinkled my nose distastefully at the stench and scowled at the fact that the clothes I was donning reeked of it. _On the bright side, I'm not wearing a hospital gown,_ I thought dryly.

I looked back at Grant and then I noticed it. Apart from his joking eyes, a sweltering plum colored bruise masked almost a third of his face. My eyes flickered over to Jonas and saw the black cast wrapping around his forearm and hand.

The events from before slammed full force into my mind and my eyes widened.

The voice from the comms unit—that commanding one—it was Headmistress Morgan.

The person that attacked us—Lawrence Montgomery—Joe knew him.

They wanted us to forget—the memory loss tea—they didn't want us to remember.

Cammie was there. They didn't want us to remember Cammie was there.

If there was anything I knew for a fact at that moment, it was that Cameron Morgan was there.

_Then where is she now? _

"—Zach? God, Zach, don't tell me you're deaf, we have enough problems as it is." I blinked. Grant was glancing at me worriedly with Jonas wearing a similar expression. I jolted upward. Big mistake.

Grant clutched my shoulder before I could fall over, "Take it easy, man."

I turned to them both sharply, "Listen to me, there's something up with Headmistress Morgan—"

"And what would that be, Zach?"

And there stood Rachel Morgan in the doorway.

* * *

_Time__: 9:42 a.m. __Date__: September 22__nd_

_Location__: Gallagher Academy_

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

"Zach, I have a few questions I would like you to answer." No 'hello.' No 'how's the dislocated arm doing?' Not one at all, Headmistress Morgan's office was about as welcoming as the continent of Antarctica.

I moved my shoulder cautiously, the muscles moaned from the soreness as I gave a strange looking shrug. I let my eyes drag deliberately around the room, as if I was in an old friend's home that had just gotten remodeled. My line of vision touched almost all the details, everything from _The Modern Methods of Bomb-Disarming: The Fourth Edition_written in Swahili to the bowl of colorful M&Ms on the corner of her desk.

"Have a seat," Her voice stunned me for a moment, the sound of it bringing flashes of the previous night. I dropped into the seat.

Her eyes were on mine as she said: "Your arm is rather sore, correct?" I nodded mutely, steadily meeting her emotionless eyes. "Maybe it wouldn't be if you were in class."

"I'd probably get this—" I lifted my arm and tried not to wince "—in P&E anyways, Bex is in that class." I said, not exactly joking.

Headmistress Morgan said nothing—her _eyes _said nothing. Even I had to admit it: Rachel Morgan was probably a very good spy. This of course, didn't put much in my favor. The room was silent as the Headmistress stared me down and I steadily stared back.

"You should get your rest—you and your friends have a rather abundant amount of schoolwork that you cannot do in a hospital bed." Before I had the time to get up from my seat, hell before I had time to even _blink, _she continued: "But before you go, would you tell me exactly what your purpose of skipping school to go to Pennsylvania would be?"

"I really love Auburn," I said impassively. A dull ache throbbed its way on the left side of my brain.

Her eyes seemed to harden, though her expression never changed. "This is serious, Zach."

"I was being serious." I turned away.

"Zachary!"

I turned enough to catch sight of her dark hair. "She was there. I could have gotten her. You probably let your own daughter die there."

I expected for her to pause long enough for me to hobble out the door, but her answer shot back at me just as I finished. "I know." I stiffened, my eyes concentrated on a painting outside the office, not even seeing it. "Go get your rest, Zach. Your pain medication should have arrived by now."

* * *

_Time__: 10:28 a.m. __Date__: September 22__nd_

_Location__: Gallagher Academy_

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

"They grilled you guys too, huh?" Grant asked in the infirmary. I downed one of the bright orange pills of medication.

"Yeah, I got Fibs." Jonas informed. Bex had gotten Moscowitz ("Probably one of the only times I've seen the man that serious—too bad he ruined it by tripping on his test tube.") Macey glared at all of us and stated curtly: "Solomon."

Sutton had been the last, her eyes looking like ones of a wounded animal. She had apparently almost cracked under Professor Smith's interrogation—it being the longest. ("But it helped a little that his new face kind of looks like Orlando Bloom.")

Everyone was quiet. I dropped another pill into my mouth and saw Jonas do the same. I immediately saw Liz's eyes widen. My first thought was that she had forgotten her own medication back at the infirmary (those bruises sure as hell didn't look too pleasant). Then Elizabeth Sutton, that girl that didn't want to swat a fly away slapped me. In the face. Hard.

For a girl who dressed as a calculator for her fifth Halloween, she had quite the arm.

The pill flew out of my mouth and my glass shattered on the floor. I looked up at her in surprise.

Her face had taken that sickly, fish-belly white shade, her blue eyes round and frightened. "Don't drink those!"

"Why not?"

"Memory loss pills—they use the powder from the original tea, but with a rawer substance to sustain the shape! Why are you swallowing them?" She squeaked, her hands smacking the highlighter colored capsules out of Jonas' surprised hands.

_They don't want us to remember._

I clutched my stomach. "Oh, damn."

* * *

Three Things that I Really Hate

(A List by Zachary Goode)

1. Being out of the loop, even when I was younger. ("Babies came from trees, my ass.")

2. Getting fooled into pain medications that were really memory loss pills.

3. Ipecac, why the heck would someone _willingly _throw up?

So to say that I didn't exactly enjoy the next hour of my life wouldn't be surprising.

* * *

"Alright, your turn, Macey." Jonas said his skin pale. He tossed the small dark bottle to McHenry; her face scrunched up in disgust as she walked over to the bathroom, mumbling something that sounded a lot like: "I feel like one of those anorectic girls."

"You think we got all of it out our system?" Grant asked casually, the faint sounds of someone—Macey—puking in the background. "'Cause I am sure am _not_ going to do that again, I'd rather forget and let you guys remember for me." He looked up. "Hey Sutton, what're you doing?"

My eyes went to the blonde, a stack of flashcards at her side and a pencil was furiously writing on one of them. "Isn't it obvious?" She asked, her Southern voice just oozing with the word _duh_.

"Yeah, Grant isn't it obvious?" I said dully, wincing a little when I heard McHenry hack something up. Even a girl that looked like her sure could make some nasty sounds.

Grant chose to ignore me and merely cocked a brow at the little blonde. She sighed and stopped her intense writing; I swear to God I saw steam marks from the pencil tip from how fast she was writing.

"I'm writing down all of the facts we know for sure about_,_" Her head snapped back and forth "_that night."_ Her hand covered her mouth, trying to look covert but looking anything but. It was as if she thought the walls had ears—but then again, I couldn't really blame her, especially if those "ears" happened to be heat-sensor cameras.

"Pass them," I said, she did (as best she could). I looked down, seeing her list.

_1. Auburn Concert _

_2. Taken place in Allentown, PN_

_3. Opposing operative(s) had used Napotine Patches and the Kutsuu Technique #67_

_4. Wave Frequency disabled_

_5. R. Morgan & J. Solomon appearance_

_6. Info on Chameleon—unverified_

I frowned at the lack of information but before I could even open my mouth, a pale, agitated and disheveled (or as disheveled the girl could get) McHenry rammed into the room. Ice blue eyes glaring at the dark bottle of Ipecac, she mumbled a few obscenities in Russian and tossed the bottle to Bex—it was Bombshell's turn. Her expression rivaled Macey's in disgust.

The Senator's daughter sighed. "These pills better be out of my system or else I just might kill the inventor of Ipecac."

While Liz immediately began spouting out facts of the actual creator of Ipecac and Bex soothed the Southern Belle's feathers down after everyone (but Jonas) gaped at her I couldn't help be affected by Macey's words.

Through all the noise, I could only think one thing: What if the pills were already in our bloodstream? Grant, obviously, following the same train of thought battered down any doubts with his enthusiasm.

If only one of us knew who designed those pills, then we'd realize that charisma alone wouldn't help our memories.

* * *

_Time__: 6:12 a.m. __Date__: September 23__nd_

_Location__: Gallagher Academy_

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

I woke up with the mother of all headaches; it was as if someone had shoved a miniature Hurricane Katrina somewhere between my temples. Without looking up, I already knew Jonas—the alter-ego of him when he was forced out of sleep anyway—was taking a shower longer than the Nile to get back at Grant and Grant would be there to pounce on him for hogging the bath—

"Jonas! Open the door, _now_! God, it's like living with an older sister who takes too long to do her make-up or something! _Jonas!_"

I got up languidly, but immediately recoiled in pain. My hand shot to my shoulder—what the hell? I had a sling? Since when?

I put my hand down, only to come in contact with note cards and sheets of paper—all about some town in Pennsylvania. I stared confusedly down, knowing that this couldn't possibly be COW homework. The note cards made no sense either, who the heck was Auburn?

But as I shifted through the papers I noticed in the corner of sheet of paper, a piece of evapo-paper was paper-clipped to it.

The evapo-paper had a new texture, it was a creamy mocha color that was a bit more frigid than the mint flavored ones. But that wasn't what stopped me, it was the three words that were written in neat, albeit girly handwriting: _"Remember last night."_

I thought of my night. My thoughts came as blank as a whiteboard with all the dry-erase marks wiped away, leaving a white, sterile surface. I closed my eyes and touched my aching shoulder, my stomach churning uncertainly as I thought back to a night where I assumed I was just studying. But, it just felt so wrong, and the evapo-paper and its note—remember what?

* * *

_Time__: 8:02 a.m. __Date__: September 23__nd_

A girl stretched out her lanky muscles, still feeling the alluring pulls of sleep in her drowsy mind. Another girl watched her comrade with a curious look on her face when a boy stormed into the room.

"So you gave him the note." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement.

The still sleepy girl didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

"That was reckless." The girl's friend reprimanded, but she lectured no further.

"Completely irresponsible." The boy scowled. But neither went on with their tyrant for the girl just gave them a knowing look. She leaned against the wall and her whisper carried out through the room like wind picking up sand.

"One more year…"

* * *

_**(Author's Note): **_Am I cruel for doing that to Zach & co., regarding their memories? Yes, I believe I am. But you'll see! The action comes next chapter, this chapter just sets it up. _**  
**_

__In all seriousness, I'm still criticizing how I wrote this, I'm rather rusty from my writing style; I'm usually writing essays or analyzing poems now. But I felt that it's just been, far, far, FAR too long since I've updated. And I apologize for the length, but with the limited information I wanted for this chapter, I couldn't drag it out too much or else it would be so boring that it would turn you guys off from the story.

Also: I'm getting drawn into different series that I want to try to write for, so Gallagher Girls are gonna be harder to write for from this point on (unless I reread OGSY). Other series: Percy Jackson by Rick Riordan, The Immortals Series by Alyson Noel, The Clique by Lisi Harrison, Sailor Moon (anime) (explanation for this: my cousin wanted me to write a Sailor Moon fic in her honor, so I figured I'd have to read some of the fanfic to get the gist of it - now I'm freaking obsessed like my cousin…the girl is a disease), and Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen.

Let's say…first 14 reviewers (if I get that amount) for a sneak peek?

Thanks for reading!

-that- updated-challenged-and-show-choir-singing-diva-


	4. Visitors

**Disclaimer: Ally Carter owns the Gallagher Girls Series along with all characters whom are in it. I, however, own this plot. **

_**(Author's Note)**_**: **Wow. This is almost EXACTLY six months later (last update: 2.18.11, today: 8.17.11). I'm so very sorry for the delay, but with school before (don't you hate when they cram everything down your throat at the end of the year?) and with me writing for my other stories, well, things were busy, but I apologize for neglecting this story for months.

**Thank you ALL SO MUCH FOR THE WONDERFUL FEEDBACK, you guys just inspire me to write even more :) You guys are just AMAZING, you know? I hope you know :D **

* * *

_Responses to Anonymous Reviewers:_

K'TheChameleon'J: Hey, K'C'J! Thank you for the major compliments, you're awesome as well!(: Here's that update!

TotallyTeamAlec: Hey! I know you're not technically anonymous and that you have an account, but my account is quite messed up at the moment, so I decided to write to you in here(: Anyways, thank you so much for your kind review and for taking the time to write me some feedback. As for the girl…well, you'll just have to see ;D. As for the 'one more year' thing, well, it might make a little more sense in this chapter(: Thanks again for reading and reviewing!

luv4zach: Thank you! I'm hoping for more frequent updates for this story, I hope you'll like this chapter!

KiXina: May I ask if you have an account as "KixinaHearts18"? Or was that coincidental? Anyways, thank you so much for your kind and supportive review! And don't worry about the whole "Zach/Cammie/Family and Children" thing, I don't really find that very in-character and I don't really like it when the main character gets pregnant (unless it's actually a possibility for the story). So no worries about that! Lawrence, well, remember him, he'll be of some importance. Thanks again!

Reader: Oh my, you reviewed twice(: But thank you very much for the motivation and support, I'm sorry I couldn't get this chapter out fast enough, MAJOR writer's block. If my writer's block was represented by a lake, I would be in the Sahara Desert. But it's gotten better and thus this chapter was born!

(blank, no name): Thank you! I've had writer's block for such a long time, so I'm so sorry this couldn't have come out sooner! But thank you for taking the time to read and review!

H-E-Double Hockey Stick: Hey, sorry for the extremely long delay and I'm glad you like my details, I take a ton of pride in that(: Thanks so much for the review! And here is your update!

paramorefreakkk: Ha! Thanks for the review and I hope you like this story, thanks for the support on my other story as well! Here's your chapter!

Whoosh: After a while of not really get reviews for this story, I have to say that your review really kicked my butt into gear for writing this, so thank you for reading this and the prequel and for taking the time to review AND for reminding me that people would actually want another chapter! I hope you like this chapter!

46789767953: Hey, thanks for taking the time to review! I hope you like it! And I'll think about writing other Point of Views, I think it would be an interesting thing for the story! Thanks again!

**Note before Reading: I've finally decided to rewrite the early chapters of ****What Happens When You Fall Hard**** the first chapter has been revised and cleaned up, and I'm working on the second as we speak (or, type?). If you're interested in rereading it, that would be great, but NO MAJOR FACTS WILL BE CHANGED. **

_**Enjoy the chapter!**_

* * *

_**Chapter Four: Visitors**_

**One Year Later**

**[Senior Year]**

_Time__: 4:31 a.m. __Date__: October 1st_

_Location__: Blackthorne Institute_

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

On field trips, from what I gathered, normal high schools hand out a permission slip for parents to fill out and then hop onto a bus and head over there. For Blackthorne, Covert Operations field trips for the senior classes are a bit different. We're attacked one by one, whether it was in the middle of our class or the middle of our shower (I didn't know who was more uncomfortable, Tim Williams being attacked while he was shampooing or the attacker who had to drag him out). No other students may help us because it was a one-on-one match. If you passed, you're allowed to come along for the trip. If you don't, you continuously spare with your partner until you _do _pass.

As a sort of pseudo-joke, most Blackthorne seniors before us dubbed them: the Permission Slips.

So, of course, my _'permission slip' _for the field day just _had_ to fly through the glass window of my dorm room at 4:30 in the morning.

Grant had to stop Jonas from suffocating the Permission Slip with his pillow. He _really_ was not a morning person. ("_I'll kill you, you son of a—!_" "Jonas! _Calm the hell down!_" Jonas practically bit Grant's arm off in response.)

My eyes focused onto massive black figure before me and before he could react I swung my fist into his masked face. On his chest was an emblem of Blackthorne and I promptly kicked him there. Through the corners of my eyes, I saw Grant drag a still pissed-off and sleepy Jonas in the bathroom.

Suddenly I lost my footing, the man's leg sweeping under me. A steel elbow slammed down into my stomach as I dropped to the ground. Pain erupted from my abdomen, a deep, deep _ache_. What I hated about these kinds of pains was the fact they didn't go away, they didn't even _fade, _it's as if the damn moment of pain just freezes and you're locked into the second you first felt it. A metallic taste exploded across my tongue.

At that point, I was seeing fucking red.

Glaring, I felt my patience snap, so I promptly I lifted my right foot and kicked him straight in the balls.

I wasn't an idiot, I knew he'd have some type of protection, but he sprang back in surprise and I quickly tossed my right foot across my body, so the momentum helped me swing my left leg from under me into a spin kick from the ground. I felt my foot connect with the side of his jaw, something that sounded sickeningly like a _snap_ and he was sprawled across the room, knocking into my dresser.

My teeth ground together as I got up, but I blocked out the pain and ran full speed into him, my hands grasping his wrists and twisted them from behind him. My grip on him tightened and I slammed him to the wall of the room, twisting his arm even more. Behind the mask, I heard a hiss of pain and profanities not even bothered to be covered into another language.

I felt something bubble to the surface in my mind. Instead of the Permission Slip, _I _was in this position, my face digging into cold gravel as a hand mercilessly bent my arm to the point I feared I would never be able to use it again. Then in a second it was gone and I was back in my room, still holding the man's arm in the same position. My right arm tingling from the mental image. A chilling horror spread through my chest. It was a nightmare. I swallowed the blood and panic and tried to focus; I refused to be liked the damned enemy in my dream. I let go of one of his wrists for a millisecond before digging my fingers into one of the pressure points in his thick neck. The struggling arm jerked sporadically, flailing around as if having a muscle spasm. In a millisecond it went limp and he slid against the wall almost comically.

Breathing deeply through clenched teeth, I saw colorful dots dance across my eyes. The door to our room suddenly opened and I swung around to see an impressed Dr. Steve and a neutral Joe Solomon.

"Excellent work, Zach! Just excellent!" I said nothing as Dr. Steve stalked in, his hand lifted the Permission Slip's arm and watching as it flopped lifelessly back down to the ground. "Oh dear. You did quite a number on him, didn't you? Joe, what do you think?"

I glanced over and met sharp green eyes scrutinizing me. For a moment he just stared, analyzing me, before saying: "You pass. Details for the next field day will be given to you."

My arm coddled my stomach, the pain barely subsiding. I eyed my teacher and headmaster with distaste. I passed. _Whoop-Dee-fucking-doo_.

Instead, my lips formed words without my consent, "I have some questions."

And before I could even utter another syllable, I blacked out.

* * *

_Time__: 2:26 p.m. __Date__: October 1st_

_Location__: Blackthorne Institute_

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

It was a dream. A stupid, confusing dream that made me want to brush up on psychology but it was a dream, nonetheless.

— _My head was on a warm pillow, but my back ached against the cold gravel. My eyesight was blurry but I saw a girl with long dark blonde hair, nearly brown, that was hanging in my face. A bright light was behind her, the yellow light of a streetlamp and my arm felt sore. I could taste blood in my mouth. I could hear a voice telling me to calm down_—

"I think he might be waking up…" Jonas.

— _the scent of smoke clung to the air, and I could have sworn I heard a crowd of people chattering in the background_—

"Hey, man, you alright?"

My eyes shot opened and the scene sank back into my subconscious. But moments flashed before me: Permission Slip. Jonas being pulled away with Grant. Me twisting his arm. Dr. Steve and his goddamned _"excellent" _and Solomon staring me up and down. I slowly sat up; a small ache in my stomach was the only indication of what transpired earlier.

I squinted, blinking away spots and glanced at Jonas. A tray was sitting in his hands with simply soup, juice and bouncy blue gelatin cut into cubes. I glanced down and noticed I was in nothing but black wool sweatpants—my version of pajamas. An ugly bruise blossomed on the left side of my belly button, the purple, black and gray smudge spread across my muscles. I covered the wince as best as I could. I tenderly touched it and my hand recoiled immediately as I clenched my teeth from shouting out words that would've put a sailor to shame.

"Well," I looked up at Jonas, "I'm guessing the answer to that question is no."

He tossed me a white tube of what looked like ointment. Seeing my questioning expression, Jonas explained.

"Solomon came in and told me to give this to you once you woke up; it's some type of miracle cream, it'll help the bruise heal in a matter of hours." Jonas explained, excitedly. "Professor Gomez and a few CIA officials created it a while ago, you see, one of the higher officials discovered a rare type of amino acid where if it seeps into your skin, it eats away at—"

I shook my head warily after applying a dollop of the cream. "Jonas, I really don't need to know—"

"—but what's really cool is that it could work in seconds. There are about six different kinds of this stuff for different ailments. I hacked in the base and there was a video that showed a patient with a really bad case of bronchitis—"

"_Jonas._"

At least he had the decency to look sheepish, I thought absentmindedly. My mind had wandered back to the dream. It felt all too real. I had felt everything from the cold ground to the soft wisps of hair dangling in my face. My vision was blurry, but was still capable of seeing colors and outlines. I could hear everything like an echo. I could even taste the goddamned blood from biting my tongue.

My heart stopped.

And before Jonas could blink, I had already thrown the white sheets off my body and raced out into the hallways, darting for my dorm room. I vaguely heard Jonas shout my name from behind and I wouldn't have even noticed the pain in my abdomen if I hadn't seen the purple mark embroidered to my skin.

I threw the mahogany door open and ran towards my desk, my hands urgently leafing through papers and plucking folders from their orderly system. The corner of a report paper clipped together caught my eye and I pulled it out. It had been an old report on psychology I had written to fulfill a cover exercise, but all the facts were true, I skimmed through the lines.

…_The criteria for REM sleep include rapid eye movements as well as a rapid low-voltage EEG. Most memorable dreaming occurs in this stage. _My eyes narrowed, skimming a few lines down.

…_through REM sleep, dreams are at their most vivid, however, psychiatrists have noticed that though proven to have the most detail, most (nearly all) patients have recalled that at least one of their sense had been missing throughout the experience. _

_The sense of taste and smell are the most commonly missed, while hearing, feeling, and sight are almost always present. Patients, who claimed that their dream had all five senses, were later proven false by relatives and loved ones that the dream was rather a memory stored in the deepest layer of the subconscious, only appearing in similar situations and during the REM cycle. _

Despite the head splitting pain threatening to crack my skull open, I tried to recall everything.

I had tasted my blood.

I had heard chattering.

I had felt cold gravel on my back.

A voice was murmuring consolingly through the entire experience.

And the smoke had clogged the air.

I was certain—_that dream was a moment in my life. _And to hell to anyone who said otherwise! My hand swept underneath the desk searchingly (and I was gonna kick Grant's ass for putting gum under there) and my finger felt the tip of a piece of paper. I nearly ripped it out.

The piece of evapopaper was withered and frayed, its neat letters faded to a ghostly outline of what it once was, but it was still legible: _"Remember last night."_

My head was screaming at me. My temples throbbed painfully. And I think I could have thrown up at any moment.

Remember last night.

And with a pained, but victorious smirk, I did just that.

* * *

The Pros and Cons of Getting Your Best Friends to Remember the Night You Were All Almost Killed

(A List composed by Zachary Goode)

PRO: With the help of Jonas, he and I were able to concoct a drink that would create a chemical reaction against the memory loss powder that had rewired our REM sleep cycles.

CON: The drink tasted like crap and Grant pretty much passed out from tasting it.

PRO: When Grant woke back up, he had remembered every single detail of the past event

CON: Grant nearly mauled Jonas for telling him that the concoction was a, and I quote: "…_freaking Mountain Dew when it was really shit that would melt my tongue off!_"

PRO: I convinced Grant not to murder and/or castrate Jonas with a rubber band.

CON: Grant enjoyed making Jonas drink the Reverse REM [now dubbed RREM] way too much.

PRO: We were closer to finding Chameleon than we were for the past year.

CON: We hadn't gotten any progress done for a year; we were back to square one.

* * *

_Time__: 11:32 p.m. __Date__: October 5th_

_Location__: Club Risqué, New York_

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

"Hey, do you mind passing the bowl of cherries?"

I looked up and saw a brunet guy with impish green eyes and tousled hair sliding into the bench across from me. He looked like the typical burnt out employee on a Friday night. His green tie was hanging loosely around his neck and the sleeves of his pinstriped button down were rolled neatly above his elbows.

I smirked, and slid the small bowl towards him, all the while, amusedly noting how he almost looked like me. I had to give it to him; he wasn't too bad with disguises. But like hell would I ever tell him that.

"So James," I addressed Grant. He grinned back after plucking a red berry from the bowl and eating it. "What brings you here?"

"Mr. Caraway wanted to celebrate a particular contract he signed with _Microsoft_, so he brought me and a few other interns here—along with his secretary." Grant informed, his tone amused.

His green contacts turned to the side and although I followed his gaze, I already knew that I would see a man, of about thirty-three, in a rumpled business suit, grinning lecherously at the flock of waitresses that fluttered barely-there skirts and frilly tube tops that looked ready to burst at their seams. Mario Rodriquez looked like he was having fun as the wealthy Mr. Caraway.

The club was dimly lit with lights that were more decorative than effective and two small walls with a large gap in between about waist high separated the massive and moving dance floor from the circular tables and leather booths. There were two long bar counters stretching on both sides. Glancing around, I went through a mental checklist of exits (four), air vents (twenty-four), doorways (seven) and employees (nineteen).

"I approve of the boss' choice of restaurant. It's educational, it's tasteful—"

"It's called _Club Risqué, _James. And although it doesn't outright have poles shooting out from the floor to the ceiling, I think a nun would faint at the sight of the waitress who gave me my order." I said, casually, swirling my bourbon around, watching the amber liquid swish from rim to rim of my glass.

To anyone watching, they'd see me traditionally drinking it, they didn't know that I was inspecting it for any contaminates. Agents went by absolutely no rules, after all. Poison was fair game. I glanced at my friend from the other side of the booth, and continued: "And I have the feeling a nun would also attempt to drown the waitress in holy water for what she whispered to me."

His eyes broke from a black haired waitress passing by (who, to my great amusement, had the same hairstyle as Baxter) back to mine with keen interest: "What did she say?"

"Something I'm sure as hell never going to say to you."

Grant rolled his eyes just as the black haired server, clad in a very tight, very short black dress, he had been eyeing earlier walked over with her sleek black heels and passed Grant his drink. She lowered her mouth to Grant's ear and whispered, voice rather quivering, "It's on the house."

My friend nodded his thanks; made a husky comment that would have made a prostitute blush and sputter and the waitress strutted away quickly. Grant looked back at me, discolored eyes laughing: "So what're you doing here, Parker?"

"Wanted a drink. And this was the closest one." I said simply, knowing very well that Parker Thomas was kicked out of three clubs and Club Risqué was the closest he could get. After Grant's short testing of his drink, he downed the glass easily.

I swirled a bit more, and watched through hazel contacts as the bourbon slid down the curve of the glass. It was barely there, but I caught it after a few seconds—a slight white residue being left behind. I raked a hand through my white blond wig, and just as my hand passed my ear, I flicked the comms unit in my ear on.

"Waitress. Name tag reads: 'Angel.' Long bleached blonde hair. Stands about 5'10". In a small French maid outfit, currently over by the third barstool from the left." I felt like a ventriloquist while speaking, my lips barely moving. I shot out the facts faster than a bullet train.

"Target confirmed." A robotic voice, neither male nor female, announced. Several minutes later, a man that looked to be the manager gripped the waitress who gave me the bourbon around her arm. Watching as he dragged her towards an 'employees only' door, I internally grinned with self-satisfaction—she was the seventh target caught for the night, after all.

Moments later after idle chatter, Mario called Grant over to "discuss business" which either translated to a) 'found possible target', b) 'we need to keep our legends intact', and/or c) 'hey, man! Want to share the insanely sexy waitresses?'

From the way, Grant and Mario were grinning as the cooing, grinding and (part of me couldn't help think) possible diseased waitresses fluttered around them like bees drawn to pollen (perhaps their sharp-as-knives heels symbolized a stinger?); I assumed it was option c).

A hand clamped down on my shoulder.

"Excuse me," A male voice inquired. "Would you be Parker?"

Merely turning my head to the side, I glanced at the man in a gray business suit behind me, remembering seeing him sit on a barstool with gin and tonic when I first entered the club. A Caucasian man that stood perhaps half a head shorter than me, his waist line resembling one of a blimp. Tufts of white hair grazed the outskirts of his dome of a cranium, along with a moustache-and-glasses combination that looked eerily close to Mr. Monopoly.

"Depends on who's asking." I said smoothly, still not fully facing the man. Was it a test sent from one of my professors to get compromised? Solomon had business elsewhere, not able to monitor the progress of our assignment.

My jaw clenched—I had been continuously tailing him for days, confronted him numerous times, but statues made of marble and stone showed more emotions than him. I hadn't thought I gave him so many hints that he knew that I remembered the night back in Allentown, but I knew well enough that he was suspicious of me.

The stout man laughed, his brown eyes gleaming. "I'm Henry Wyatt, the owner of this establishment."

"I see," I said, noncommittally, turning to finally face him. Though his eyes hadn't dilated, his breathing was rather fast. Half of me was suspicious while the other half wondered if he was somewhat tired from walking from the opposite side of the club (his gut probably digested enough double-cheese burgers to achieve that feat, I was sure.). "And what business do you have with me, Mr. Wyatt? And if you could be so kind as to tell me who gave you my name, I would be grateful."

"Oh, nothing really. And your friend had told me." He waved off; his hand seemed hefty enough to be a baseball mitt. "But you see that same friend—James, was it?—well he seems to have taken an interest in my daughter over there—Ellie."

My gaze turned to the place I last saw Grant, only to see the black haired waitress sitting primly in his lap, (or about as primly as one could be when sitting in a random guy's lap, clad in a dress that really should have been a shirt). Her inky black curls obscured her face as she seemed to look down while somewhere in the distance I heard Mario laugh.

Wyatt was lying—I hadn't seen him go anywhere near Grant.

"You let your daughter work as a slutty waitress?" I blurted, rather astonished.

His beefy hand was waved in the air again, as if my calling his daughter a whore was about as important as a pesky fly buzzing in the air. "The girl is good for business."

It was either he didn't see the disgust on my face, or he didn't care. Coolly, I inquired: "And what business do you have with me, Mr. Wyatt?"

Wyatt shrugged his sloping shoulders. "I'd just like you to tell your friend to keep Ellie happy—"

"Rather controversial when you dress her up like she'll be in a Playboy." I said, tiring of his hypocrisy.

The man continued on as if I hadn't spoken. "—because when Ellie's not happy, things are rather…" He looked thoughtful for a moment, as if trying to find the right word. "…messy. The girl really did take after her mother."

"Pardon?" I blinked, before my head snapped to the side, eyes back on the spot where Grant was sitting.

He wasn't there.

Neither was Ellie.

I turned back to Wyatt only to see that he wasn't there either, but rather sinking into the sea of dancing bodies. Standing up swiftly, I maneuvered quickly through the crowd of dancers, eyes searching for any part of Grant's disguise.

Nothing.

Cutting through the dancers, completely ignoring the angry looks I collected as I rammed through them, I sped after Wyatt. My hand went to my ear, static flickering in my ear. A sense of déjà vu slammed into me. My jaws clenched—was it them again? Had they abducted Grant like they did Cammie?

Seeing the back of his grey coat enter a room, I shouldered a couple grinding to the fast beat of song and stepped forward, the door not showing any resistance as it opened like a flap.

It was as dark as a cave and I could barely make out the motion of my hand when I felt something slam into my face, clamping over my mouth. I was being pulled back, when my elbow met with heated flesh. The hand opened surprise, but I heard no sound of pain.

Thinking I escaped the grip, strong fingers wrapped around my ankle and yanked. I fell onto my back, gasping out air before my eyes narrowed, adjusting to the dark. I sat up, saw the figure lying on the ground, its vise like hand wrapped around my foot, and rolled onto my curved back before catapulting my legs above, hands planted firmly on a ground, like a handstand. The person let go in surprise as I landed on my feet, and pulling my leg back for a kick—

I felt a giant weight blindside me.

Landing on my back, I felt the person grab my shoulders, shaking roughly.

"Zach!" I stiffened at the use of my name. "_We're_ not the enemy here."

My eyes widened in the dark—I knew that voice.

"Technically," A soft Alabamian voice spoke up. "The enemy isn't in the facility at all."

The lights came back on, my eyes aching and dancing with spots a bit at the sudden change. I glanced at the man holding me down. He was in a black uniform with the _Club Risqué _logo embroidered on the breast pocket with an ID hanging off his belt—he was rather lanky for a bouncer. He had dark blond hair in a short ponytail resting at the nape of his neck.

And it finally struck me—the man was a _girl. _

Rolling out from under him—_her—_I watched as he/she grabbed his/her ponytail and yanked the blonde wig off, choppily cut black hair falling in thick strands from underneath it. She peeled the fake nose off her face to reveal a more feminine one with a diamond stud in it. Part of me was shocked_—_but the other part had been expecting to see her.

Even I had to hand it to her, with a face that was on every article relating to politics, Macey McHenry was pretty good with disguises.

* * *

_Time__: 1:26 a.m. __Date__: October 6th_

_Location__: Club Risqué, New York_

_Point of View__: Zachary Goode_

"He's going to wake up sometime soon, right?" I looked over to the inanimate form of my friend over by the wall. He looked dead. Grant hadn't even stirred when I accidentally stepped on him. I glanced over at Macey, still in her men's clothing, but luckily scraped off the fake facial structures and took out her colored contacts. It was disconcerting to see McHenry as a man. I told her that—and also told her that it was even harder before since I couldn't imagine her much as a woman.

She threw her fake nose at me.

I was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall of the surprisingly large storage room of the club. All steel racks held various glass bottles of alcohol—various types of wine, champagne flutes, and shot glasses next to tall tequila bottles. The room was cold and damp, the beat up cardboard boxes lining the walls.

Bex was leaning coolly against the wall opposite mine, still in her Henry Wyatt disguise. Behind the crazy white moustache, she replied in her regular English accent: "I'm certain. Liz injected a sleep serum into the cherry he ate, wasn't the strongest stuff we got; she already informed us that he shouldn't be out for too long. Few more minutes tops."

Standing off to the side, fidgeting with the abominably small dress—everything from trying to slide the hem down and pulling the neckline up—Liz's face resembled the bright red cherry that Grant had eaten. She had taken off the black wig and had let her light blonde bob hang from her head. "Uh, you guys?" Her roommates turned their gazes to her. "Do you guys think, uh, maybe I could change or maybe get a coat please? It's—" She paused, looking down at her legs as if she hadn't known they were there before tonight. "—cold."

We all heard a shutter of a camera go off in the dank storage room.

My gaze went to Grant, still on the floor, lying on his stomach and his phone aimed for Liz. His grin, though still looking groggy, was still awake. The little blonde squeaked, hands covering various parts of her anatomy. I cocked an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged: "I'm being a good friend."

"To _who_ exactly?" Bex spat, eyes narrowed. Her hands went to her hips—which were still the size of a bean bag, courtesy to the Henry Wyatt body she was sporting. Bex's stance lost all intimidation whatsoever with the getup—I had to looked again to see if she was even frowning—the moustache dominated her still Caucasian face (fake skin really was hell to take off).

Grant squinted at her, still foggy from his forced and unexpected nap: "Is it just me, or does that guy sound eerily like Bex?" He looked at me. "I'm still asleep, aren't I? Because this looks oddly like a nightmare; British Bombshell looks more like an actual bomb ready to explode. And is white." Grant looked at Bex again. "And a man, by the way."

Bex mumbled something akin to "Knackered idiot," under her breath, but it was hard to read lips with the moustache in the way.

"But to answer your question, dearest." Grant continued, taking his green contacts out. "I'm being a good friend to Jonas—he'd want to see this," He waved his phone in the air. Liz was so red I thought she could have lit the room without the help of the dim lights above.

"Liz just may die of embarrassment." I stated matter-of-factly, like a doctor diagnosing some type of terminal disease.

Grant grinned suavely. "If she did, Jonas would probably follow her lead." He thumbed the screen of his phone, looking at it. "Except the only difference is Jonas would die of excitement. I have a feeling he'd go a happy man."

"Said man won't be happy after he hears that you flirted with his girlfriend." Macey put in.

Grant held up his hands, as if they would deflect any accusations made by his (currently a man) sort-of girlfriend, and the wrath of his jealous roommate. "Technically, _James _was the one flirting with _Ellie_."

"He makes a point—after all, legends aren't you." I said. "You say anything otherwise, you're not cut out for going into deep cover—besides," I looked between Macey and Bex. "By your logic, McHenry would be a man with a job as a lowly bouncer and Bex would be a man with the physique of a jelly donut." My eyes went to Liz as she grappled for a black backpack before pulling a sweatshirt over herself. "And Liz, to put it frankly, would be a prostitute."

Three girls glared, but stayed quiet.

"Now," I said, voice becoming serious. I had been anxious since the minute the three had appeared. It wasn't just the fact that they were Gallagher Girls, but these three specific Gallagher Girls would only come here for one reason and one reason alone. "What can you tell me about Cammie?"

The three Gallagher Girls were silent for a moment, as if frozen in time.

My eyes narrowed, voice sharp: "Well?"

Dramatically, Bex tore off her bald cap, yanking off the fake skin and facial features with an audible _rip! _like a Band-Aid being torn off of skin, but she didn't cry out in pain. Her long black hair tumbled down her back before she fixed her brown, pensive gaze onto mine. "We have a lead on Cammie. We think we know where she is."

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_**(Author's Note)**_**: Longest Chapter So Far for This Story! YAY!**

And there you go! I was pretty satisfied with this chapter. I was contemplating on continuing on, but I wanted to get this out to you guys as fast as possible (and I also wanted to be evil and make it a cliffhanger :D)! I hope you enjoyed the update despite my deviousness! :D

**Questions: **Was it unrealistic how Zach remembered? Because I do remember in CMH how they mentioned even with memory loss tea, the memory can be jogged due to familiar occurrences. Did I fool you with the whole "Henry Wyatt" and "Ellie" spiel? And also: What were your general thoughts of the chapter?

**To make it clear:** "Henry Wyatt" was Bex's cover. The security guard/bouncer was Macey's cover. And the black haired waitress named "Ellie" was Liz's cover.

If you could please take the time to answer these questions in a review that would be MARVELOUS(: I'm really getting back into this story, and am**_ extremely_ pumped** to write the next chapter (mostly because chapter 5 really takes this story off)!

**ALSO, **there is a poll on my profile: **WHAT STORY SHOULD I UPDATE FIRST? **Please participate, it'll really help me on time management!

Thanks for reading!

-an-excited-diva

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**P.S: **Due to circumstances, I'm sorry for those of you who hadn't gotten a promised sneak peek. _But _the fourteen reviewers will get the preview of Chapter 5 automatically. The following readers/reviewers will get the sneak peek: **samcheese1, **_Katherine'TheChameleon'Jackson, _TotallyTeamAlec, **ellenfp, **_Gallagher Rose, _blackrosewitch1996, **BloodsuckerHater, **_it's just that feeling, _TheTreeHuggerIzzie, **Moon Shines Over the Cowshed, **_chellygoesrawr, _Megan-Winter, **KixinaHearts18, **and last, but not least: _GallagherGirl459_

My apologizes if I accidentally spelled your name wrong (I'm typing pretty fast right now).


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